Robert Ludlum's the Blackbriar Genesis: a Blackbriar Novel Series Book 1 Read online

  THE BOURNE SERIES

  Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Sacrifice (by Brian Freeman)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Treachery (by Brian Freeman)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Evolution (by Brian Freeman)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Initiative (by Eric Van Lustbader)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Enigma (by Eric Van Lustbader)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Ascendancy (by Eric Van Lustbader)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Retribution (by Eric Van Lustbader)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Imperative (by Eric Van Lustbader)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Dominion (by Eric Van Lustbader)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Objective (by Eric Van Lustbader)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Deception (by Eric Van Lustbader)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Sanction (by Eric Van Lustbader)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Betrayal (by Eric Van Lustbader)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Bourne Legacy (by Eric Van Lustbader)

  The Bourne Ultimatum

  The Bourne Supremacy

  The Bourne Identity

  THE TREADSTONE SERIES

  Robert Ludlum’s The Treadstone Transgression (by Joshua Hood)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Treadstone Exile (by Joshua Hood)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Treadstone Resurrection (by Joshua Hood)

  THE COVERT-ONE SERIES

  Robert Ludlum’s The Patriot Attack (by Kyle Mills)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Geneva Strategy (by Jamie Freveletti)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Utopia Experiment (by Kyle Mills)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Janus Reprisal (by Jamie Freveletti)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Ares Decision (by Kyle Mills)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Arctic Event (by James H. Cobb)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Moscow Vector (by Patrick Larkin)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Lazarus Vendetta (by Patrick Larkin)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Altman Code (with Gayle Lynds)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Paris Option (with Gayle Lynds)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Cassandra Compact (with Philip Shelby)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Hades Factor (with Gayle Lynds)

  THE JANSON SERIES

  Robert Ludlum’s The Janson Equation (by Douglas Corleone)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Janson Option (by Paul Garrison)

  Robert Ludlum’s The Janson Command (by Paul Garrison)

  The Janson Directive

  ALSO BY ROBERT LUDLUM

  The Bancroft Strategy

  The Ambler Warning

  The Tristan Betrayal

  The Sigma Protocol

  The Prometheus Deception

  The Matarese Countdown

  The Apocalypse Watch

  The Scorpio Illusion

  The Road to Omaha

  The Icarus Agenda

  The Aquitaine Progression

  The Parsifal Mosaic

  The Matarese Circle

  The Holcroft Covenant

  The Chancellor Manuscript

  The Gemini Contenders

  The Road to Gandolfo

  The Rhinemann Exchange

  The Cry of the Halidon

  Trevayne

  The Matlock Paper

  The Osterman Weekend

  The Scarlatti Inheritance

  G. P. Putnam’s Sons

  Publishers Since 1838

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © 2022 by Myn Pyn LLC

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Hardcover ISBN: 9780593419977

  Ebook ISBN: 9780593419984

  Cover design: Eric Fuentecilla

  Cover images: (composite) Kerstin Marinow / Arcangel; Iulian Valentin / Shutterstock; Getmilitaryphotos / Shutterstock; Roi Shomer / Shutterstock; Rasto SK / Shutterstock; Yasonya / Shutterstock

  Book design by Tiffany Estreicher, adapted for ebook by Maggie Hunt

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  pid_prh_6.0_141491996_c0_r0

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Also by Robert Ludlum

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Part One: The Genesis

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Part Two: Blackbriar

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Epilogue

  About the Auth
ors

  GENESIS: The Greek rendering of the Hebrew bērē’shith, the first word of the biblical book, traditionally translated as “in the beginning.”

  PART ONE

  THE GENESIS

  ONE

  CAIRO, EGYPT

  FOUR YEARS AGO

  Assistant Deputy Secretary of State Edward Russell maintained a brisk pace as he hurried through Terminal 3 of the Cairo International Airport. He walked past the different stores, seeing flashes of books, overpriced food, and clothes. He wondered for a moment who in their right mind bought clothes at an airport, but seeing that every store was busy with customers, he just shook his head and continued toward the main station of the MiniMetro. Quite familiar with the airport, Russell didn’t need a map to find the station, which was located between the freshly renovated Terminal 2 and the slightly older but much bigger Terminal 3. Looking past the bobbing and weaving heads of the other passengers walking in front of him, Russell spotted the red-and-white train symbol. He turned left at the next junction, with the instructions he’d been forced to memorize before leaving Washington playing in his mind over and over.

  From Terminal 3, walk to the main MiniMetro station. Take the MiniMetro to Terminal 1, then use one of the terminal’s public bathrooms before climbing back into the train to Terminal 3. From there, buy a local newspaper from the gift shop and go to the lobby of the Le Méridien hotel by crossing the pedestrian bridge. Someone will be waiting for you in the lobby.

  Though he remembered every word, it failed to boost his confidence. Russell wasn’t a spy, but he wasn’t a fool, either. He knew he was being watched. He just didn’t know by whom. All around him, arriving and departing passengers were hauling not only suitcases and travel bags stuffed to overflowing, but also teddy bears, pillows, and shopping bags filled with consumer goods. As large and nice as it was, Terminal 3 was packed with sweaty travelers, and their hurried footsteps, mixed with the sounds of crying babies, echoed up and down its structure. How anyone could find him in this crowd was a mystery. It seemed that every square inch of the terminal was occupied.

  And it suffocated him.

  To his left, a porter called out, offering to carry Russell’s lone carry-on. Russell dismissed him with an impatient wave of the hand and reserved the same treatment for the two currency exchangers waiting on the MiniMetro platform.

  No. He didn’t want to exchange his US dollars or euros for Egyptian pounds.

  No, he didn’t need a taxi.

  And no, he didn’t want companionship.

  Russell wormed his way around the well-dressed peddlers and battled for position as the bright red train arrived. He squeezed into the car, which was already packed. There was standing room only, but he didn’t mind after the thirteen-hour flight.

  He had much more important things to worry about.

  Russell, who had cultivated and maintained a multitude of contacts throughout Egypt during his thirty-year career at the Department of State’s Bureau of Conflict and Stabilization Operations, had been sent to Cairo as the US secretary of state’s personal emissary. His job for the next forty-eight hours was to hold discreet talks with what remained of the Muslim Brotherhood leadership. Once Egypt’s largest opposition movement, the Brotherhood’s political wing had won a plurality of seats in Egypt’s lower house in 2011 but had been pushed out by a coup d’état two years later. Following a brutal crackdown, many of the Brotherhood’s leaders and thousands of its members were imprisoned or forced into exile. With the Muslim Brotherhood completely cut off from political and civic participation, the CIA had cautioned that the remaining influential members of the Brotherhood were about to splinter into different groups. Without a central leadership, the most radical factions of the Muslim Brotherhood would become much more difficult to track. Not only could this cause significant social unrest in the capital and fuel more terror attacks against government forces in North Sinai, it could jeopardize the fragile but improving relationship between Egypt and Israel.

  With the current instability in Libya and Sudan, and the escalating crisis in Ethiopia, the United States government saw the rapprochement between Egypt and Israel as vital for its national interests in the region.

  In an effort to truly understand the growing discomfort within the Muslim Brotherhood ranks, the secretary of state wanted a finger on its pulse. Russell was that finger. But there was a problem. With the Egyptian government having designated the Muslim Brotherhood a terrorist organization, the United States couldn’t afford to be seen entertaining discussions with them. That meant Russell had to travel to Cairo unofficially and without the contingent of DSS special agents he would normally be entitled to for such a trip.

  “But it doesn’t mean you’ll be alone, Edward,” the secretary of state had told him when he had summoned Russell into his office. “A small team of private contractors led by a man named Oliver will be waiting for you in Cairo. They’re very, very good at what they do. Follow their lead, and they’ll keep you safe. Trust me on this.”

  As the train began to move, Russell could see a dull gray sky beyond the windows. It must have rained hard earlier because the drains adjoining the airport were flooded. The traffic around the terminals was backed up, thanks in part to the vehicles that were double- and even triple-parked curbside. In the background was a constant sounding of horns by frustrated drivers. Russell’s eyes moved from left to right, searching for somebody who might be paying too much attention to him. None of the faces looked familiar.

  It took Russell a little less than thirty minutes to reach the final step of the procedures he’d been asked to follow. He was midway through the 250-yard-long pedestrian bridge leading to the hotel lobby when a hand suddenly squeezed his elbow.

  Russell froze, spooked.

  “Don’t stop walking, Mr. Russell. You’re clear. Keep your distance, but follow me,” a tall man dressed in dark slacks and matching zippered jacket said without stopping.

  Russell’s heart was pounding. Where had this man come from? He just appeared from seemingly nowhere. And, even more critical, who was he? The instructions had said that someone would be waiting for him in the lobby. There had been no mention of someone accosting him on the bridge leading to the hotel.

  Shit.

  What was he supposed to do? The man’s English was perfect, without a hint of an accent.

  And he knows my name. It has to be Oliver.

  Russell prayed that he was right.

  TWO

  CAIRO, EGYPT

  Oliver Manton entered the hotel lobby and scratched his right ear, a gesture intended for his partner Trent, signaling that Russell was on his way.

  “Good copy,” Trent replied, his voice coming through the earbud deep in Manton’s ear canal. “The SUV is at the door and ready to receive.”

  The lobby was spacious and elegant, with dark marble floors and a large reading area, but it lacked any real charm. The reception area was busy with the regular hum of arriving and departing guests, and Manton figured that, on a busy day, the check-in counter might be mistaken for a terminal at Hartsfield-Jackson Airport in Atlanta. A quick look outside through one of the large floor-to-ceiling windows confirmed that the rain had stopped, but the dark, low-hanging clouds promised more very soon, which didn’t help lighten Manton’s bad mood. Another downpour would only worsen the drive out of the airport.

  Moreover, in Manton’s opinion, it didn’t make much sense to have three Treadstone agents babysitting an assistant deputy secretary in Cairo. Manton had read the ops plan prepared by Treadstone Director Levi Shaw and understood why DSS special agents couldn’t be involved. He was in agreement with Shaw as to why Russell needed to be protected.

  That wasn’t the problem.

  What Manton couldn’t wrap his head around was why Treadstone had been given the assignment in the first place. These kinds of duties were usually assigned to private militar
y companies who specialized in close protection. Treadstone operatives were hardened assassins, not protectors.

  Unless . . .

  Was escorting the assistant deputy secretary only a cover for a darker assignment? Having worked for Shaw for years, Manton wouldn’t be surprised.

  Manton grunted at the thought. Did it really matter? Whatever the real reason he and the other agents were in Cairo, they would do what they were told. Like they always did.

  He had never worked with the other two operatives before, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he had worked so closely with another agent, let alone two. Still, it was comforting to know he was operating alongside highly skilled individuals who had graduated—survived, really—the same brutal training he had.

  Manton crossed the polished floor of the lobby and strode past Trent, who had taken position next to the concierge desk. Manton pushed through the brass-framed revolving door and headed toward the dark gray Audi Q7, his head on a swivel. The stench of gasoline fumes emanating from the idling vehicles parked curbside, mixed with the smell of jet fuel, assaulted his nose. The odor was so powerful that Manton could taste it.

  When Edward Russell stepped out of the lobby twenty seconds later, followed ten steps behind by the second Treadstone agent, Manton gave the assistant deputy secretary of state a nod and opened the rear passenger door for the two men.

  “You can leave your carry-on here, sir,” Manton said. “I’ll put it in the trunk for you.”

  Russell complied and climbed inside first, with Trent following seconds later. Manton closed the door, dropped the surprisingly heavy carry-on in the trunk next to a pair of duffel bags, and scanned the area one last time before sliding into the passenger seat of the SUV. The Audi surged forward and merged into traffic.

  “We’re going to the alternate safe house,” Manton said to the driver.

  Manton shifted in his seat so that he could look at the Treadstone agent seated behind him.

  “Anyone in the lobby?” Manton asked.

  “Can’t be sure, but probably,” Trent replied, pulling out two MP5 submachine guns and a bunch of spare magazines from a hard-sided Pelican case at his feet. “I’d say there’s a fifty-fifty chance they made us.”